


Just Like Old Times

by naqi1



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2d is clumsy, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Innocent Stuart "2D" Pot, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Plastic beach references, Sad Murdoc Niccals, Sad Stuart "2D" Pot, Sharing a Bed, Trans Male Character, Trans Stuart "2D" Pot, and 2D's past, murdoc is a sad bean inside, we look at murdocs past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naqi1/pseuds/naqi1
Summary: I'm shit at summaries, soz:When 2D struggles to administer his own shot, Murdoc reluctantly helps him, fluff and angst ensues.
Relationships: 2Doc, Murdoc Niccals & Stuart "2D" Pot, Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> T/W: Abuse reference, scars, mental illness

Early morning rose over Kong Studios, which meant Murdoc Niccals was probably in bed sleeping off a stellar hangover. No doubt covered in the contents of his ashtray and what looked like an emptied-out liquor store. 

The bassist stirred from what should of been more of a coma then a sleep, clutching his empty and rather angry stomach. Like everything in his life Murdoc tried to ignore the pain and fall back into his hangover induced slumber. Unfortunately for him, that want going to be the case this morning. "oh for Satan’s sake.." he growled to himself, yanking the dirty sheets off his thin green frame. After steadying himself to his feet Murdoc found himself yawning like he'd not slept for a year, hand firmly down his boxers scratching at his arse. 

Murdoc was going on 50, and he knew his body was starting to betray him. But hey at least he still had a good ear for music, and of course a good rrrrocking bassline when he heard one. But instead of the usual concoction of sounds that emulated from Kong in the mornings - usually Dents on his video games, Russ banging around in the kitchen, Noodle on the phone to her friends - he heard a clatter of thuds and strangled noises coming from the bathroom down the hall. Assuming 2D had probably just broken something, Murdoc exited the room, annoyed but also intrigued. 

He walked down the hall and stopped at the bathroom when he found the door open, only slightly but enough to hear 2D fumbling around. He sighed heavily and opened the door fully with one push of his hand. 2D turned slowly, limbs all in a mess on the bathroom door. He looked up at Murdoc who was smirking ever so slightly, stood only in his boxers, hands crossed over his chest. "In a pickle are we, ay dents?" Murdoc huffed, almost amused as the singer sat on the floor all jumbled up and a slight bump on his head. This was all going to be very hilarious to laugh at him about until he noticed the redness around the singers eyes and the broken needle and bottle of Testosterone on the floor. His black heart sank, and he felt empathy wash over him. Internally Murdoc shunned himself, refusing to show outwardly just how much he really empathised with the poor mess of blue hair and legs sprawled across the floor. 

2D turned around in anticipation of his humiliation at falling over, again. But instead he heard a soft sigh fall from Murdoc's chest. "Ahh come on mate, plenty of needles around here. I'm sure we can fix you up ay?" Surprised at Murdoc's soft tone, 2D turned around and took the hand being held out to him, helping him back to his unsteady feet. With annoyance 2D sat himself back down on the edge of the bath. "That's the second on I've broke this week muds, my head is just, it's all fuzzy". He clawed at his temples and Murdoc assumed he'd just had another of those intense headache thingys that he gets. Another glorious symptom instilled on him for life because of his reckless and selfish actions he thought. Murdoc looked at the singer, he looked almost disappointed in himself. He hated it. 

Murdoc turned on his heel and began rummaging through the bathroom cabinet mumbling to himself. "charcoal face mask? what the bloody hell is this shit i mean who wears- ah! found you you lil bastard!" 2D stared quizzically at his friend "uhh Murdoc, what're you doing mate?". The bassist turned to face the singer, hands clutching a brand new needle, dressing and vial of T. "well you can't inject yourself when you're in this state can you you bloody dullard", Murdoc waved his hand nonchalantly in 2D's direction, silently instructing him to scooch over - which he did without thought. 

Murdoc knelt down and felt the cracking in his joints. Setting the supplies down next to him he began to study 2D's thigh, tracing his fingers in a cross over what he thought he remembered to be his injection site. Nervously he asked "it's been a while since I've done this Dee, remind me again whereabouts it goes?" trying to hide the rising dark green colour in his checks. 2D looked up foggily and smiled at the bassist, "spot on Dr Niccals" he looked up at Murdoc and huffed out a small laugh. "Well no more jokes pretty boy, unless you want me to jab you where the sun don't shine" Murdoc said dryly but with the type of smirk that reassured 2D he really was just joking, maybe even masking nervousness 2D thought. 

Murdoc lined the needle up and expertly injected the younger man, exactly how the doctors had shown him many years prior. It really had been a while since he had done this for Stu. At the beginning, he was so scared of the needles he wouldn't let anyone but Murdoc give him his shot. Slowly but surely he became more confident and had been doing his own shots everyday for the past two years. 

"See? All sorted. No need to stress bluebird." Murdoc said with his usual charm. Standing slowly and packing away the needless in their rightful place he could feel the heat radiating from the younger man behind him. He turned and flashed a grin "don't say i never do nuffin for ya faceache". Hoping that'd stop whatever train of thought the man was running with, he promptly headed for the door, casual of course, not to give away the fact that he really was not in mood for one of Stu's little heart to hearts. But of course, before Murdoc could slip out the door, he hears "M-Murdoc?" in that soft and sombre voice. He sighed gravely and looked toward the blue haired man "what is it faceache?", he knew he looked irritated, and he didn't mean to be but for satans sake it was 8 in the morning and he had a serious hangover to sleep off. 

"fanks muds, for the shot I mean. It was nice, I kinda missed havin you here yano, to help n all. I just feel a bit stupid I guess, if it wasn't for this bloody headache.." and with that Murdoc could see Stu's eye get red again. He urgently needed to stop those tears, Satan help him he was not intoxicated enough to deal with a crying, hormonal 2D."I mean yes you are stupid but ahh, no need to beat yourself up. It was just like old times yano?" 2D rubbed at his empty sockets and laughed "yeah, old times, anyway, fanks.. for a second I thought you were just going to laugh at me". That stung. I mean he knew he'd been awful, evil sometimes to the poor guy but had he not always been there, truly been there when he needed him? Or at least tried to be? A sadder, more defeated sigh escaped him in that moment. "..I'm not a monster Stu, i can see you're not up to it today.. I just.." NO. It's too early and you're not drunk enough for this conversation, abort. "no thanks necessary. I think you just need a good old sleep mate." and with that Murdoc gestured the singer to follow him out of the dank and honestly, dirty bathroom. Once he heard his steps behind him Murdoc could feel an exhale of easiness wash over him.


	2. Stronger Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and 2D share a bed, fluff and angst ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Abuse, scars, mental illness

Finally, he could return to the pit he called his bedroom and pass out until he couldn't feel anything anymore, sweet sweet bliss. He smiled subconsciously at the thought. As he got to his room and began to turn the handle that feeling disappeared. Murdoc could feel that awkward presence loitering behind him again. He knew that awkward presence anywhere. 

He turned to face the taller man twiddling his thumbs and uselessly attempting to stand still with those gigantic horse legs of his. "faceache I believe your bedroom is two doors down, unless you really have embraced your stupidity this morning? " the irritation was coming out in his tone. 2D began to shift nervously, heat rising to his cheeks. "oh! well you said like old times? so I just thought? I'm sorry, I'll go now". There it was again that damned empathy, of course he didn't want 2D anywhere near him right now but Satan he hated that flustered, hurt, sad, whatever the hell is was, look on his face. He grabbed the younger mans arm before he could flee back to his room like an injured puppy. "Satan's sake Dee.. Come on then, you're like a bloody child. I think I have some painkillers in here anyway." 2D beamed happily and followed the bassist into his room like a toddler, "fanks muds!". He watched as the man sat himself on the edge of bed awkwardly and he sighed. He scanned the room for some sort of drug strong enough to dull his headache and decided on max strength co-codamol. Tossing the packet in his direction, "you really are the bane of my life pretty boy. waters over there, I'm going to bed, do what you want but don't wake me up, comprende?" 

2D fumbled around to the side of the large bed, black sheets perfectly matching the aesthetic of the room. He found a pint glass of water on the bedside table and proceeded to take the painkillers Murdoc had threw in his direction – hoping they would dull the banging in his skull. Although it could be dank and dirty in here, he rather quite liked Murdoc’s room. It felt like his very essence had merged into its interior. Band posters, pictures, and gold records littered the walls, hiding the molding, peeling wallpaper and patches of bare wood. Another reason 2D enjoyed Murdoc's room was his stellar music collection, it was really quite admirable. A huge crate overflowed with vinyl's, cassettes, and CD’s that stood next to a vintage oak wood turntable. Of course the floor – if you could call it that – was piled with old dirty clothes, beer cans, and empty baggies containing god knows what. But 2D had never been a clean freak, god his room was probably just as bad, and of course it all redeemed itself when you saw Murdoc’s pride and joy, a large black grand piano. Murdoc never fancied himself a good player so on rare occasions 2D got to play it instead. It bought back fond memories, for the both of them, but for 2D making music with Murdoc had always been somewhat of a therapeutic experience, one he seldom got these days. 

After snapping out of his train of thought 2D lazily climbed into bed, making sure to keep his distance from the older man who he knew better then to disturb when he was tired and grumpy. It was ironic really, the distance between them in this bed, almost mirrored their personal lives, twisted really. A representation of the electric fences surrounding Murdoc’s inner psyche, something 2D had been desperate to enter for years. He missed the days when Murdoc would let him in, the only person he would ever allow in, but it all changed after Plastic Beach and nothing had been the same since prison. These were wounds that 2D knew would never heal, not properly – but he knew they were being nurtured slowly back to a place of normality. Murdoc had promised to be better, and he had! But, ulterior motive was always at the back of 2D’s mind. 

The singer could hear the rise and fall of Murdoc’s breathe – especially his snoring – and figured it was safe to scooch over a tad bit closer. Stuart had always found that he slept better next to a warm body and surprisingly, Murdoc had always been receptive. Not only that but 2D found his headaches and nightmares soothed by the soft presence of the bassist – even if sometimes they were caused by him. Nightmares were something 2D had gotten used to, and something he knew plagued the man next to him all too well. 

Hours had passed and of course, the two men had become a tangle of sweaty limbs. 2D hardly noticed he’d woken up, more preoccupied with the feeling of warmth and security. Then he noticed the older man next to him, once soundly asleep, now twitching and mumbling incoherent words while subconsciously beginning to breathe faster and faster. He struggled to hear what Murdoc was saying until his voice became clearer and more distressed. “Get off me ya old bastard!” followed by a series of “no’s” and “stop its”. He had never seen the bassist this vulnerable before, I mean sure he’s been around when he’s had nightmares but for some reason, this one really worried 2D because, he looked scared. The singer thought it over a few moments before he decided he couldn’t watch him suffer any longer. 

2D propped himself up by his elbows, enabling him to look over Murdoc. Cautiously he reached his hand out toward the older man's shoulder and gently shook. “Muds?... Hey Murdoc, I fink you’re havin a bad dream mate” he tried nervously. The bassist twitched violently “Piss off you slimy old git!”, hitting the sympathetic hand away from him unknowingly. This was beginning to worry 2D more, he hadn’t seen Murdoc like this for a really long time, so he tried again. “Muds! You’re scaring me, wake up!” shaking his arm with slightly more force than last time – which, seemed to do the trick. Murdoc began to gasp for air as his eyes shot open with fear, reaching out and grabbing whatever he could find – it turns out it was 2D’s wrists, and with enough force, it immobilized him. Panting he looked around the room, grounding himself and realizing it was just another nightmare – one he was not used to people seeing. Waves of thoughts rushed through the bassists mind. What had he said? What had he done? Had he hurt 2D? Wait, why is 2D here?! Then a voice snapped him back into reality, “Muds, you’re hurting me..”, immediately Murdoc released his grip, coiling back in on himself. What was he thinking! “Shit, Stu.. I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to”. 2D sat back up against the headboard, rubbing the red marks on his wrists, “ s’okay, my fault really, you’re not spose to wake people up from nightmares, are you? Sorry for scarin you Muds”. Murdoc sighed heavily, running his fingers through his greasy hair, god he hated this. He hated 2D for it, apologizing all the time, for stuff that wasn’t even his fault! Murdoc could smack him in the face for no reason and the stupid dullard would still apologies for it! It highly irritated him. “Stop bloody apologizing dullard, it’s not your fault I had a fuckin nightmare is it.” annoyance dripping of this tongue. The older man turned himself back onto his side away from 2D’s stupid sympathetic face, his own tinged a dark green with embarrassment from the state he’d just been caught in. 2D of course, who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone, poked his head over so he could see the lanky green mans face. “Sorry Muds.. Um, do you wanna maybe talk about it?” Murdoc moved himself to meet 2D’s curious eyes “Stu..” he said with a charmingly sarcastic grin on his face, “I can’t think of anything worse”. 

Murdoc who desperately needed a shower turned more onto his back, feeling the singer's eyes still on him. Accidently, his greasy midnight blue, almost black, locks started to fall back from his face, uncovering a very small portion of his forehead. Excitedly, 2D exclaimed “Wow! I’ve never seen you with your hair pushed back Muds! You look like-” and as the singer pushed the hair further back, he felt a quick, strong hand grab his arm and a low growl escape Murdoc's lips, “Don’t.”. But it was too late, 2D could see the small round blotchy scars littering the bassists forehead. 2D was taken aback slightly, confusion and shock growing on his face. Murdoc grumbled in what was a mix of aggravation, embarrassment and the feeling of being utterly fed up. He moved the hair back to its rightful place, not wanting to make the situation more of a big deal and heart to heart moment that he can already feel bubbling up. God he was not intoxicated enough for this conversation. 

Taking the singers silence and uneasiness in what to say to him, Murdoc decided the best course of action would be to use his usual charismatic charm to downplay the situation – and quickly too, because he knew that 2D was beginning to see the cracks in his armour. He began “Well yano, the old man figured that the best way to shut up a screaming toddler would be to use it as an ashtray” laughing hollowly. “Learnt pretty quickly that crying wasn’t going to get me anywhere” looking up and daring to meet eye contact with the singer, who still looked as soft and sympathetic as always but still remaining silent. “He took away my birth right to be the worlds first green forehead model, the bastard” letting out a grin in 2D’s direction, desperately trying to make him laugh, or shout, or say something! Success, a smile! But he knew it wasn’t sincere. The singer simply put his hands on Murdoc’s flushed cheeks and said “that what your nightmare was about?”. Honestly, all Murdoc wanted to do was hit the singer, go back to sleep and never speak of it again. Teach 2D a lesson about sticking his nose in his business. But he knew that’s not how he really felt, every time he’d hurt 2D, it wasn’t through malice (he didn’t think), it was a way to keep the singer at a comfortable distance. The way he was being looked at right now was pure kindness and sincerity, something Murdoc wasn’t used to. But it was a look that made him feel safe and comfortable. “Yeah mate, among other things. Wouldn’t wanna sorry your pretty little face about them though luv, bit too depressing, don’t you think” He took the singers hand in his own and lingered for a few seconds before placing 2D’s hand back on the bed sheet. The singer looked down and softly spoke “Okay muds, I understand”. Finally, thought Murdoc, he’s going to drop it and let me sleep myself back into a coma. He began to turn himself back onto his side but was interrupted by 2D’s hand grabbing his. “But I need ya to remember muds, I don’t fink any less ov ya” The singer pulled his hand closer to his chest, resting it over his slightly visible top surgery scars, “we all have scars yano..”. 

2D looked down with a childlike smile while Murdoc traced his fingers over the pale pink thin line across his bare chest, making the younger man shiver slightly. “Thanks Dee, really, but this is different then that, it goes a bit deeper then just a few fag ends.” dropping his hand back into his lap, Murdoc sighed. He began to move himself to sit up against the headboard, thinking about where this conversation was going and if he particularly wanted to continue. He locked eyes with 2D and softly spoke, in a tone not too familiar to the bassist, “You know Dents, I've always admired the way you carry your scars, your pain, you’re a stronger man then I could ever be. You should know that, if you don’t know anything else Stu.”. Thinking about all the words and apologies never spoken.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHORT CHAPTER SORRY:
> 
> this is just a small look in Murdoc and his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Bullying, Implied Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Homophobic Language

Murdoc was a troubled child, had been since he was first dumped on his father's doorstep as a baby. He had always wondered why Alfred Niccals had taken him in in the first place when he clearly was not a family man. His father was a cruel, insensitive, callous, monster of a man with an almost admirable tolerance for alcohol – one of the few good things that he inherited from the man. Murdoc's older brother Hannibal wasn’t a saint by any means either, just as bad as the bullies at school – although he was probably thankful for having someone else there to take his beatings. School had always been a shit show for Murdoc, all he never knew was the never-ending symphony of names that the popular kids would throw at him, “faggot”, “shit for brains”, “face ache”, and his personal favorite “bum boy". Everyone at school knew the type of kid that Murdoc was and everybody knew that the Niccals household was toxic. Countless trips to the nurse's office, black eyes, broken noses and the ungodly smell of a child who’d never known a bath, letting off the foul stench of stale fags and alcohol all over the school. None of this ever rang any alarm bells with any of the teachers or adults around him, because frankly, none of them cared. Murdoc was a troublemaker, a truant, who was best when he was being kicked out of class, he was scum of the earth to them and deserved all the bullying he could ever endure. 

As a teenager Murdoc peaked in his musical prowess and of course Alfred Niccals saw this as an opportunity to make a bit of easy cash. He began forcing the young musician into talent shows at skivvy old pubs filled with creepy old drunk men who always seemed to have a somewhat disturbing interest in Murdoc. He begged and pleaded not to have to get on that stage but after a while Murdoc figured a bit of embarrassment was better than his never-ending tally of broken noses. His sorry excuse for a father knew what kind of environment this was and was more than aware of the predatory grins whenever Murdoc was around. Unfortunately for Murdoc, on an off night he had lost the competition, losing his father out on his weekly alcohol money fund. He knew this was going to end in the beating of all beatings when he got home, but instead, his father looked down at him with sheer disappointment on his face. He could see two old men stood behind him, cracking their knuckles and staring at Murdoc in a way that made the hairs on his neck stand up. Speaking softly and almost at a whisper, his father spoke, “Look boy, if you can’t satisfy those shitty judges and earn me some fucking money, then I'm sure that you can satisfy theirs..” At the moment the two men stepped toward him, putting their slimy hands on his shoulder with force and grinned. His father knelt down and whispered to Murdoc “They paid double the price too”. With that the men began to forcefully guide Murdoc away from the crowd, he looked at his father with shock in his eyes, hoping that he would come and save him, but knowing that he would do no such thing. Before he knew it he was being dragged into a dark and dingy room with no windows, and only a mattress on the floor. If they paid double, he thought, this would not be the last time...

Of course, a child like this never grows into a fully functioning healthy adult. So, naturally, Murdoc sank into the cycle of abuse. Becoming the alcoholic, narcissistic, miserable trauma-riddled piece of shit that he is today. He’d never held down any kind of stable job before Gorillaz, never mind a long-term relationship – the best relationship he had ever had was between him and a bottle of Rum, until even that became toxic. He tried every he could to dull the pain. Alcohol, drugs, sex, but it never worked. Murdoc knew he was turning more and more into his father every day. He’d been hurt yes but he knew that didn’t give him any right to hurt others the way he had. But how does someone who doesn’t know any other way of life achieve that? He felt that side of him take over when he was all alone on Plastic Beach, he never understood why he did the things he did to himself, and to 2D in the island but he had regretted it every moment since. The one thing that was always there for him and comforted Murdoc, was music. No matter how bad things got he knew he could always throw on a Black Sabbath record and all the pain would melt away. This was one of the few things that he and 2D both had in common.


	4. Average Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHORT CHAPTER SORRY:
> 
> this is just a small look in Stu's trans identity and his past.
> 
> (mentions of unsafe binding, please DO NOT use bandages or tape at home!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Transphobia, implied self harm, unsafe binding, abuse

Stuart “2D” Pot had always been just like every other boy. He loved dinosaurs, shooting games, rough play fights and playing in the mud. He was a clumsy kid, and worried his parents sick constantly. By now he was a local at A&E having had so much head trauma - anyone would think he’d be in a permanent coma. Of course, he had always been a bit slow but that never stopped him from being just like any other average boy. But, unfortunately for Stu, he wasn’t an average boy and everybody knew it. His parents never approved of the way he bandaged his chest, or how he never wore dresses and cut his hair. They knew Stu wanted to be a boy deep down, but this was something that they’d never fully accept, never mind confront. So, the issue was dodged, avoided and pushed down for years and Stu tried to be the perfect daughter, the pretty in pink little girl they always wanted. Which worked out great for his parents, but not so much for Stu. Instead of playing with his mates, making music, skateboarding and spray painting like he wanted to be doing, Stuart spent his teens locked away in a closet of self-hatred and fear. Countless nights of screaming into his pillow and punching walls hoping that when he looked down at his chest the dysphoria would just stop, wishing everything would just stop. He just wanted to make them understand. Did they know what it was like to live in a body that just feels to inherently wrong? Did they not see the damage that they were doing, and the damage he was causing to himself? Do they not hear me struggling to just exist? None of his friends gave a shit that he was a tomboy, none of them cared that he wore hats and hanged around with boys so why should they, he thought. Stuart found himself stuck in a house demanding him to be someone he wasn’t. Slowly he could feel himself dissipating, his identify fracturing and disappearing, much like the hope he had of finally living as his true self. 

Stuart knew that this “family dinner” was going to be a disaster, he could feel it in his gut. His mother had left him a dress on the bed earlier that morning and insisted he wore it because they were having “guests”, and she didn’t want to be “embarrassed” in front of them. He yanked the piece of fabric over his head and had never felt so disgusted in himself. He looked in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back, large chest and pink polka dot dress an offensive contrast to what he really felt on the inside. He couldn’t escape the crushing feeling inside his chest, the banging against his ribs felt torturous, and the tears started to fall. He starred at that reflection and felt hopeless, like there was nothing he could do. His breathing started to pick up and he felt the panic growing inside of him until he snapped. Years' worth of pain and anger spilling out into his fists as he tore the dress from his body, pacing his small room endlessly, his bruised knuckles making impact with the hard concrete several times. He stormed into his bathroom throwing the dress promptly into the bin. In this moment he had never felt determination so hard, he had never wanted to show himself to his family before but he damn well was tonight. This was the part of Stu that no one could ever take from him and he wouldn’t let himself be silenced any longer. He took the scissors from his cabinet and cut straight through his pony tail leaving a trail of bright blue locks all over the floor. Grabbing the nearest set of bandages to hand he wrapped and wrapped his chest until he could barely breathe and pulled a black band tee over his head. He picked out black ripped jeans and his favorite pair of converse and finally looked in the mirror. This is me, he thought. This is who I want my family to see and the person I refuse to bury any longer, and with that he left for the dining room. 

As predicted, the screaming match began, his mother looking him dead in the eyes and screamed “Your name is Amelia! I didn’t raise no son!” while his father simply held her shoulders shaking his head. Stu looked at him almost as if to beg for help, for forgiveness, for acceptance even, but he simply looked at him and said “If you refuse to be our daughter then we can no longer be your parents.”. That hit Stu like a tonne of bricks. Thoughts bounced around his skull, he showed them who he truly is and they refused to see him. If he couldn’t be himself around them, then his options were clear – he couldn’t stay. He turned on his heel and ran to his room throwing what he could into a bag. Heading towards the door he picked up his skateboard and took one last look at his parents disapproving eyes before skating off into the rain never to come back – which he didn’t. It had almost been 6 months and Stu had been doing great! And by great, I mean he’d been living in a moldy, leaking flat on the verge of falling apart working below minimum wage at a shitty music shop just so he could survive. Things could be worse though he thought, at least now he could proudly walk around the shop with a name tag that read “Stuart Pot”, he was surrounded by the music that he loved, and today a customer had even called him sir! Things were looking up for him, in the smallest possible of ways but still, progress was progress – or so he thought until a fuckin’ car came crashing through the side of the shop window.


End file.
